


Every Last Hope

by ro_blaze



Series: lyre, lyre, your strings are on fire [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Budding Love, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Ganondorf is his own warning honestly, Nonbinary Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Nonbinary Zelda, Other, Sheik is Zelda, They/Them Pronouns for Sheik, Zelda (Legend of Zelda) Needs Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ro_blaze/pseuds/ro_blaze
Summary: On the night of the Fire Festival, Sheik loses something and gains something new in return; the gentle fall of the snow is their only witness.[Ocarina of Time, canon compliant, set two months before Link's return from the Sacred Realm.]
Relationships: Ganondorf/Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Ganondorf/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: lyre, lyre, your strings are on fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174823
Kudos: 3





	Every Last Hope

**Author's Note:**

> so uh
> 
> AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> HAPPY 35TH BIRTHDAY TO THE BEST MESS OF A FANDOM IVE BEEN A PART OF 
> 
> huge thanks to my friends at the Triforce Trio discord server for being amazing, for helping faciliate the birth of all my mad ideas, and to [CrypticCrone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidCrone/pseuds/CryptidCrone) for listening to my nonstop blabber (and helping me figure out the name of this little piece!)
> 
> (warning: in this fic Sheik/Zelda is 17 and half, and Ganondorf is recently turned 26. if that makes you feel uncomfortable, please feel free to turn away)

The bonfire burned merrily in the center of the market square, bathing the otherwise quiet streets of Castle Town with its lovely golden light. People danced around it, their forms nothing but a handful of dark silhouettes against the orange backdrop. A wedding was going on too, rumor had it, the old mayor’s granddaughter and one of the green Gerudo vai that just arrived from the Valley at the turn of the summer. Smitten and in love. _Eloped_.

Sheik shook their head, nursing a cup of tasteless tea in their half-frozen hands, and tilted their head to watch the snowflakes flutter down the dark starry sky. The silver crescent of the moon hung high above, barely visible, and the stars shone all the brighter for it. The air smelled like smoke and cheap, watered-down wine; the sound of people dancing and laughing echoed in the night, so loud that they could hear it even high up on this random balcony. 

When they brought their mug to their lips they found it empty, the warm water finally gone, their breath but a wispy cloud of white in the cold winter night. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sheik said with a dejected sigh, and stared mournfully at the empty bottom, as if by thought alone they could materialize more tea.

A tongue clucked somewhere behind them, and their ears caught the fall of heavy steps a breath’s moment before a cloak—heavy and warm and red like the blood of the rising sun—fell over their shoulders, large enough to swallow all five foot two of them and leave spare beside. The smell had grown familiar to them in the last months, highland safflina and woodsmoke and the tinge of the air just before a summer storm, wrapped around them, and they didn’t have to look up to catch a pair of smiling golden eyes gazing upon them.

“What kind of example are you setting, dear Sheik, cursing like that,” the King of Evil admonished, shaking his regal head in unrestrained amusement. “The language.”

Were it another day, Sheik would have shown him just how much of _language_ they knew, and told him precisely where he could shove his chastisements. But tonight was a night for celebration, a night to leave old feuds behind and say goodbye to all that gone pass, and prepare for the new beginning in a week's time, so all they could give him was a sour look. The bloody red cloak brushed against their cheek, _kashmir_ soft against the sliver of bare skin, and they let their eyes fall shut.

“Your Majesty,” they greeted instead, nodding their head lightly, and tucked their chin into the warm, warm _kashmir_. “What brings you out there so late in the evening?”

“I heard there was a pretty little thing sitting here all on their lonesome,” he replied, his smile evident in his voice, and sat down on the bench next to them. “Why aren’t you down there? Celebrating with the rest?”

Sheik shrugged their shoulders, not quite knowing the answer themself, and put the empty mug away lest they break it. Ganondorf was awfully warm next to them, a space heater in a vaguely human-shaped form, and it only took his invitation—an arm stretched towards them—for them to scoot over and rest against his side. The smell of woodsmoke and safflina filled their senses, and they barely bit back the urge to bury their face into his chest and drink it all in.

 _I’m supposed to hate him,_ they thought, _and yet here I am, clinging to every scrap of attention he gives me like a starved street dog._

“Why aren’t you?” they asked in return, watching the dim light of their lantern light the brilliant red of his hair.

“I have many doubts your Hylians will enjoy having me outside,” Ganondorf replied with a chuckle. “Although I do admit the idea of ruining their little celebration is quite appealing. Considered it, actually, before I was told you are here all alone.”

“I’m flattered that His Majesty finds harassing his humble servant an enjoyable pastime.” Sheik rolled their eyes, hating the way fondness bled into their voice. “Better me than them.”

“Always so selfless.” His body shifted, leaning against the wall, his fingers adjusting the drape of his cloak around their shoulders. When he brushed against their shoulder Sheik had to bite their lip, electricity sparkling underneath their skin. His touch was magic. “For your information, I can actually control myself. Have to give them a little taste of hope, every once in a while—no fun playing with them if they don’t kick back, don’t you think?”

The easy tone of his voice, discussing their people’s fates as if they were a handful of toys and he were the child they belonged to, made them shiver. Ganondorf mistook their shivering for one born of the cold and tucked them further into his side, their cheek pressed to his ribs. His large hand splayed over their hip, fingers warm, nails—the beginning of claws, now—running over the fabric of their leggings. 

Sometimes it was hard to remember that beneath the easy smiles and warm golden eyes stood a bloodthirsty beast with cruelty and ruin on his tongue, and Sheik hated themself for the fact they _wished_ to not remember.

“Have you gotten a reply from Labrynna?” they asked, trying to shift the topic to something that wouldn’t make them feel like the worst person in the world. “Any news from the envoys?”

“No reply yet. Yesterday’s letter said they just reached port, it will be some time before they make their stand to the Queen.” Ganondorf ran his fingers up and down their side. “Zora’s Domain is getting worse, apparently. The watchers say the springs have almost frozen over. No trace of the Princess either.”

No, no, bad choice, bad choice— The self-hatred disappeared, only to be replaced with horrible, terrifying guilt, and Sheik let out a small, soundless whimper, pressing their face into his side. The caress didn’t stop, fingers rubbing up and down and up and down, and although there was little comfort to be had in the Demon King’s arms, he gave it all for them.

(Zelda would have laughed at this.)

They lapsed in silence once more—an odd silence, both heavy yet companionable at the same time. The music from the market square grew louder and, curious, Sheik pulled away from the warmth so they could peer over the balustrade. Two small figures—the brides, if the rumor was true—danced in front of the firepit, spinning and twirling, two shadows blending into one being. Transfixed, Sheik leaned against the cold stone, half-frozen fingers clutching at their borrowed cloak, and followed the newlyweds as they danced to their heart’s content.

Once upon a time, when they’d been a little fledgling with images of white knights and perfect princesses in their head, they dreamed for a dance like this, for the froth of a thousand petticoats against their calves, for the weight of a golden band around their finger. Now all they dreamed for was a bowl of warm stew and their mother’s voice.

“What is so interesting that you’ve decided to leave my side?” Ganondorf’s voice reached them, and he moved closer to them once more, all but trapping them between the ice of the wall and the fire of his body. “What are you watching, Sheik?”

“A wedding.” His fingers moved to rest on their hip again, warm against the chilled fabric, and Sheik wanted to lean in and let his warm envelop them. Someone so evil had no right to be this warm. “One of your guards, I heard.”

“Ah. Wed on the third evening of the Long Night—very auspicious. I ought to find her tomorrow and wish her good luck.” Ganondorf toyed with the end of their braid. “What do you think? Should I send her on guard duties?”

Guard duties were dangerous, for there were monsters who did not obey the King and stayed away from those of their brethren under his flags, but preferable to scouting or traveling. Sheik weighted the options, chin propped in one hand. Months ago they’d been flattered by the King seeking their opinion on something so trivial, but they had plenty of time to get used to the unofficial title of being his favorite. 

“I think it’s a rather suitable position, my King,” they said after some minutes of consideration, turning their head to give him a ghost of a smile. Flattery and praises always stroked his ego, and Ganondorf Dragmire enjoyed stroking his ego more than all else. “Married or not, one should always put their loyalty to the King before anything else.”

Empty words, empty but pretty. Their answer seemed to satisfy him and Ganondorf grinned at them, golden eyes twinkling in the lantern light, and Sheik had a difficult time breathing. Evil had no right to be this beautiful, to feel so right, and they forcibly turned their head away before they did something they would surely regret.

The silence stretched, oddly comfortable, and Sheik relaxed at the sensation of hands on their body. The Demon King was an affectionate man, they’d learned from the very first night he’d caught them crawling back to the castle after a late visit to the Temple and the tears still fresh in their eyes, and he seemed even more affectionate when they were concerned, as if he couldn’t keep his hands away from them. _The pieces of the Triforce,_ they tried to reason. _It’s simply the pieces wanting to be together once more, and nothing else._

The sounds of the wedding, the music and the singing and the dancing, grew softer and softer, and the people began to disperse. Sheik watched them, watched until they were all gone, snowflakes fluttering down the dark winter sky. The flames danced now in the people’s stead, orange and red and yellow and beautiful, and they sighed softly, tired eyes falling shut.

“People my age are getting married, living their best lives, and here I am working my youth away. Nearly eight-and-ten and still unkissed.”

Their birthday would not come soon—not until the next six months, not until the Festival of Light and Hylia’s day, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Unkissed?” Ganondorf asked, amusement laced in the warm tone of his voice. His hand reached for them and Sheik let him, let him cup their face and turn them so their eyes met his. The familiar golden sparkle greeted them, gentle despite the calluses of his palm, despite the dried blood under his nails, and their heart sang for him. “You mean to tell me no one has tried to kiss a beautiful creature like you?”

“Many have tried.” Sheik let their mouth pull into a smile and sighed softly, enjoying the odd warmth of his palm against their cheep. The soft leather of his gloves smelled like woodsmoke too, like every part of him, and they ran their nose against the line of his thumb. “None have succeeded. One ought not give their first kiss easily.”

“Pretty words, from a pretty maid.” His fingers moved, hooking under their chin, thumb gently stroking their lips. His skin tasted of salt and copper, of ruin and death. “Say then… is a King worthy enough for your first kiss, Sheik?”

 _No,_ Zelda thought, the harsh truth bared beneath the masks of illusion and lies. _Never in a million years._

“Yes,” she breathed out, trembling fingers rising to rest against the thick leather covering his arm. “ _Yes_.”

His response was a soft chuckle, his lips a ghost away from her skin, and then Ganondorf tilted her head and pressed his mouth to hers. His kiss was gentle and chaste, the barest brush of feather, nothing like what she expected of him. His hand held her cheek still, warm and unyielding, and for a moment Zelda allowed her eyes to flutter closed and pretend her world wasn’t falling apart around her, pretend she wasn’t throwing all seven years of hard work and pain and sacrifice to the wind, every last hope she had left, just for an evil man’s kiss.

He pulled away, breath warm on her cheek, and this time it was Sheik who kissed him, one hand on his and the other in his hair, soft red curls caught between their trembling fingers. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Ganondorf whispered against their mouth, his free hand moving to rest at the small of their back, and kissed them again.

And again.

And again.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit my twitter, [monnydoesart](https://twitter.com/MonnyRancheva), where you can see some fancy zelda art and maybe take a look at my commission. stay safe~


End file.
